Chapters (110)
- Cover
- ALSO BY J. TODD SCOTT
- Dedication
- Epigraph
- PROLOGUE
- I
- II
- PART ONE
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- PART TWO
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- THIRTY-NINE
- PART THREE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- FORTY-TWO
- FORTY-THREE
- FORTY-FOUR
- FORTY-FIVE
- FORTY-SIX
- FORTY-SEVEN
- FORTY-EIGHT
- FORTY-NINE
- FIFTY
- FIFTY-ONE
- FIFTY-TWO
- FIFTY-THREE
- FIFTY-FOUR
- FIFTY-FIVE
- FIFTY-SIX
- FIFTY-SEVEN
- FIFTY-EIGHT
- FIFTY-NINE
- SIXTY
- SIXTY-ONE
- PART FOUR
- SIXTY-TWO
- SIXTY-THREE
- SIXTY-FOUR
- SIXTY-FIVE
- SIXTY-SIX
- SIXTY-SEVEN
- SIXTY-EIGHT
- SIXTY-NINE
- SEVENTY
- SEVENTY-ONE
- SEVENTY-TWO
- SEVENTY-THREE
- SEVENTY-FOUR
- SEVENTY-FIVE
- SEVENTY-SIX
- SEVENTY-SEVEN
- SEVENTY-EIGHT
- SEVENTY-NINE
- EIGHTY
- EIGHTY-ONE
- EIGHTY-TWO
- EIGHTY-THREE
- EIGHTY-FOUR
- EPILOGUE
- I
- II
- III
- IV
- V
- VI
- VII
- AUTHOR’S NOTE
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
- Excerpt from LOST RIVER
- LITTLE PARIS
- DILLON
- ABOUT THE AUTHOR
- What’s next onyour reading list?
If he didn’t drink with them, the others would notice. They’d know he was nervous, as sure as they could smell it on him, and when you’re surrounded by wild fucking dogs—and Johnnie was, all the time now, on all fucking sides—the last thing you wanted to do was show any damn fear.
So he drank his Pacífico and tried not to choke on it, as the others debated the thing he’d said. The thing he’d told them they were going to have to do.
While Rae up there on her pole turned and turned, like she was about to spin away into all those lights above them and disappear. And to Johnnie, who hadn’t slept much the past three days, that didn’t seem like a bad idea at all.
—
IT WAS CHAVEZ who said no first. He was the oldest, older than Johnnie. He was a big man, always had been, and had worked for Johnnie’s father as a deputy for more than twenty years. He was one of the first Johnnie brought on to the unit, known all around the area for the catch dogs he bred for bull and boar baiting and for the dogfighting rings he ran on the side, and sometimes Johnnie could look at Chavez’s weathered face, into his deep-set black eyes, and see more dog than man there. Like he’d slowly changed into one of those bully breeds he kept caged and chained in his barn.
Surrounded by wild fucking dogs . . .
If Chavez said no, the others would follow his lead. Johnnie needed to straighten this out fast.
Johnnie set his beer aside, leaning forward. “See, I’m not really asking, okay? This isn’t a goddamn negotiation.”
Chavez crossed his thick arms, revealing a faded blue tattoo of a pit bull running up his forearm. “And this isn’t like the other things, Juanito.” Chavez was the only one who could get away with calling him that. Sometimes he used it as a term of affection, like a kindly uncle. This wasn’t one of those times.
Ortiz spoke up. “Yeah, I agree with Chavez. I really don’t like the sound of this thing at all.” Ortiz was the newest member, his hair still a high and tight crew cut like a goddamn road trooper. He’d just gotten married, too, and was always checking his phone and texting his wife, who was waiting up for him.
Johnnie pointed to the phone in Ortiz’s hand. “When you walk the fuck out of here and get into that nice department ride you’re driving, where the fuck you gonna go?”
Ortiz glanced at the others, still unsure of himself. He’d always be unsure of himself. “Home, Johnnie. Just home, you know that.”